


i'm afraid of the light (she burns too bright)

by scarsimp



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Chronic Pain, Gen, Glasses, Headaches & Migraines, because he's photophobic, eye issues in the sense of low vision and light sensitivity, hc miles also wears the glasses all the time, photophobia, the vaguest way to say someone puked possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarsimp/pseuds/scarsimp
Summary: also known as; 2 times a friend helped Miles through a migraine, & 1 time it was someone(s) else, and a pet panda.
Relationships: hints of scarmiles but only if you squint
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	i'm afraid of the light (she burns too bright)

**Author's Note:**

> this is brought on by my friend @gansbeee mentioning Miles might wear snow glasses in the desert not because he's a dumb bitch and trying to hide himself from other ishvalans but because he has photophobia

  1. olivier 



Maybe he had been overzealous when he went into command that day. In Miles' defense, he had genuinely felt fine for the most of it— the nagging throb at his temples was more common than not, and he was well used to it. What he wasn't used to, however, was someone flashing a light directly into his eyes as they identified him. 

Yeah, his glasses couldn’t exactly save him from that. 

It damn near blinded him, or at least it felt like that. He could hear himself bark something-- maybe a swear, maybe an order, if he was honest he barely knew-- as he stormed past the guard, fighting off the urge to press a gloved hand to his eyes. Or rip them out of his skull, whichever came first. He kept grumbling even as he walked through the metal halls of Fort Briggs, trying to ignore the dread already looming across him. His head wasn’t hurting.  _ Yet. _

That “issue” rectified itself in the following twenty minutes, and Miles regretted ever agreeing to help Olivier with the newest recruits. Twenty minutes of Olivier shouting in his ear, and recruits screaming as loudly as they could. He was in hell. 

He turned to glance at Olivier as the rookies started to, finally, file out in a line. Maybe he wasn’t in hell  _ yet _ , but the look she was sending him definitely promised a one way ticket. The heavy door slammed shut after the last soldier with a loud crash and a sense of finality-- Miles didn’t know which one it was that made him flinch more. The needles throbbing in his right temple spoke for the former, though.

“Come on.” Is all she said as she strode past him, and Miles didn’t have it in himself to even ask, simply trying to keep one foot in front of the other without losing his meager breakfast. The hallways were long and winding, and he tried not to squint too noticeably when the harsh lights above them sputtered. 

Olivier didn’t stop walking, scarcely even deviating when a terrified receptionist tried to stop her. She simply snatched the stack of paperwork out of the woman’s hands and carried on. They were going to her personal office, Miles realized belatedly, and tried not to groan out loud. Either Olivier was going to chew him out, or she was going to  _ really _ chew him out.

"You're such a fucking idiot," Olivier spat with false venom, the paperwork she was holding slamming against the metal of her desk like it had done her a personal wrong. "you know you're supposed to stay in the barracks when you're sick, but no, you've gotta be a hero. Yes, yes— you're a big strong man and your dick is massive. Now lie down before you hurt yourself."

There was a broad couch that acted like a barrier between the door and her desk, and Miles laid down. He probably would’ve taken the floor at that point if the couch hadn’t been there, if he was honest with himself.

“That’s what I thought.” She glared at him even if there was no genuine heat behind it, a scowl firmly on her face. “What did the doctors tell you to do whenever your head got too big and exploded, huh?” She didn’t wait for an answer, and Miles didn’t bother to give her one, too busy rucking his jacket up over his head to cover his eyes. “God-- whatever,” he heard fabric land somewhere across the sofa, slapping a hand out to grasp at it before feeling callused ones snatch it from him. 

Olivier graciously draped part of it over his face, and he muttered what he thought was a thanks even as he fought off an unsettling display of motion sickness. “God- give me your coat.” She didn’t so much as ask, snatching it off of his head from under the blanket and ignoring his noise of complaint. “Maybe put on some muscle before you try to strip around here.”   
  
Typical Olivier. 

  1. buccaneer 



Just like everything else, this one started by accident. Miles hadn’t been planning on getting near blasted by a flare-- a better question would probably be:  _ who plans on getting nearly killed by a flare? _ Buccaneer and him had been out, fighting through thigh deep snow and grumbling all the while as they searched the area for anything suspicious. It was the worst, muddiest, and coldest type of guard work you could be assigned at Briggs, and ranks saved no one from it. 

They had been almost done, so close to Briggs that he could almost taste hot coffee, when a flare flashed by in an array of heat and so much  _ light _ . It hurt-- of fucking course it hurt, it would blind a normal person-- and he could swear he felt it go through his skull with how bad it felt. His knees felt weak.

Miles could hear Buccaneer swearing somewhere besides him, but he was too caught up in the way the world shifted around him to really pay attention to the specifics. He didn’t even see the soldier moving closer until he was right on him, a hand firm on his elbow and helping him to the ground. 

“What’re you doing, soldier?” Buccaneer sounded amused, as though he was humoring him. When Miles didn’t answer he paused, before sounding mildly concerned. “Miles?” Miles opened his mouth to say something, before realizing that was a very bad idea with a gag. “Miles!” Buccaneer shook him lightly, and Miles gagged again before jolting away as his dinner made a reappearance.    
  
“I’m fine.” He eventually managed once the motion sickness had gone away somewhat.    
  
“I’m gonna go ahead and call bullshit on that, Miles.” What humor had originally been in his voice had long left, replaced with a wary sort of concern. “You need to get back to the fort. We’ve done enough out here, anyway.”   
  
“Right. Yeah-- sure.” He held a thumb up.   
  
“And  _ that’s _ how I know you’re really sick.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

  
*****

  
Miles’ room came with a certain amount of relief, and he didn’t hesitate to head straight to the neatly made up bed and sit down. He watched Buccaneer make himself at home with somewhat concerning comfort, before easing himself down and turning to bury his face in a pillow.

"Do you want me to turn the light down?" Buccaneer's voice was softer than Miles had ever realized it could be, low and shockingly considerate. He didn't bother with a verbal answer, the nausea swelling once again under his throat a warning not to open his mouth. A slow nod, and a muffled huff into the pillow still planted over his face as footsteps echoed around the room.

The noise throbbed somewhere inside his skull, reverberating until he felt more than heard himself groan in pain even as the light dimmed around him. “Do I need to get one of the doctors?”   
  
Miles spoke without thinking, “No. No-- that’s fine, this is normal sometimes, ugh.”

Buccaneer stopped himself from shouting just in time, instead choking his words down into a hiss. “ _ What? _ You’re telling me this is normal for you? You can barely walk in a straight line.”   
  
“I’ll be honest and say I probably can’t do that right now, either.” His glasses were pressing forcefully into the bridge of his nose, heavy across his face even with their lightweight frames. He wanted to throw them somewhere, preferably far enough away that he never had to see them again. He also knew that might’ve been the stupidest idea he’s had in years.

“This can’t be normal, Miles.”   
  
“It really is, for me at least.” He sighed into the pillow, “You know just as well as I do that medical bullshit won’t help everything.”

There was a beat of silence before Buccaneer let out a breath of acceptance. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m still gonna stay here for a little bit, though. You’re stuck with me for the night.”   
  
Miles felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, before wincing at the strain it put on his scalp. 

  1. and one time it was someone else



He had woken up with a headache that morning, sleep ringing in his ears and throbbing behind his eyes like an unfortunately familiar old friend. It wasn’t anything strange, he would admit he spent most of his days in some minor band of pain, thick in his jaw or across his brow. And that’s why he got out of bed that morning anyway, convincing himself of the same thing he did every time this happened-- he was just being dramatic. 

He did everything normally. Put his glasses on before he opened the blinds, took a few painkillers to try and stop what amounted to a train with no breaks, poked at what he could manage of the breakfast his partner had tossed together when he woke up. He even stopped at one cup of coffee, remembering offhandedly the time Marcoh had scolded him on how excessive caffeine was bad for his blood pressure. 

And yet, he still wound up trying not to stagger when those lights started-- sickly bright and growing around him like a scythe, numbness on the side of his face spreading like a disease. He still wound up fighting off the urge to gag, sprawled across the couch with a pillow pressed across his face and the trashcan by him. It was a dragging pulse, throbbing in the core of his mind and pressing behind his eyes with the beat of his heart. Noise hurt, breathing hurt, everything hurt.

Miles fought off the urge to curse when he heard the shuffle of feet against tiled floor, the scrape clawing against his eardrums. This wasn’t Briggs, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings just because he had a headache. 

That flew out the window when a high pitched voice broke through the tepid silence.

“Hey! Is breakfast ready yet?”

He muffled a swear into the pillow squashed against his face, something in Ishvalan that would have his boyfriend frowning and Mei asking what it meant. Thankfully no one heard, and he maybe felt the slightest bit better. Then he heard Mei’s voice again, right besides his head. 

“Miles, you’re up early today!” She was as cheerful as usual, and he forced a small smile onto his face as he listened to her talk. Each word was painful, but it was Mei so maybe it was worth it. “Hey-- you’re really ashy, are you okay? Are you sick?”

Miles floundered for a moment, not exactly wanting to explain the details of severe photophobia to a twelve year old-- no matter how smart she may be. He was thankfully saved by the bell; in this case a certain priest walking into the room. Miles could see the judgement wafting off him even with the pillow, and didn’t even bother with pulling it down. He heard an amused sigh, before someone shuffled over. 

“Miles’ head is hurting, Mei.” It was a simple explanation, but had no room for debate in it. “Come in here with me, we can make dough for lunch.”    
  
“Oh-” Miles noted with relief the way her voice had dropped. “Okay. Here- you can lay with Xiao Mei. She always makes me feel better.”   
  
Miles bit back the temptation to insist he was fine, knowing it would hurt Mei’s feelings more than save his own pride. What little argument he had willed up dissipated when he felt small hands deposit a small ball of fluff to his side, patting the small panda before walking away with the other man. 

He tried to fight off the urge to pet her for maybe five seconds before caving.

Xiao Mei’s fur was soft against his fingers, and it took him away from himself for a moment. She chuffed, small nose wrinkling as she sniffed delicately at his wrist before deeming him acceptable. Her nose was cold where she had pressed it against his skin, and he found himself smiling faintly even as he squeezed his eyes closed again. After a moment of what must have been heavy consideration, she shifted, before scrabbling up the cloth of his shirt and curling up against his chest.

She was a warm mass against his sternum and he felt the pained knot in his chest relax marginally. It wasn’t by much, but any sort of give felt like it was heaven sent at this point and he silently thanked Ishvala. He could faintly hear Mei murmuring to his other half, something low enough that he thankfully couldn't make out. 

Miles could only assume the painkillers he had taken were finally kicking in, the all consuming roll of his head dimming to a pulse. A deep breath in, a slow exhale, he forced his brow to relax and stretched his legs out faintly, the muscle spasming in his thigh making itself very apparent now that the intensity of his head had calmed.

His shoulders and biceps ached from the tension he had been carrying since he woke up, and Miles didn’t know if he could bring himself to move yet-- even if a hot shower would work wonders. Instead he sighed fairly, moving a stiff arm to pull the pillow off of his face and actually use it as it was intended. He could feel stitching against his cheek, but he was warm and his eyes were closed firm and he could just about ignore the migraine for a moment. 

When he woke up some hours later, it was to a blanket draped over him and Xiao Mei still asleep; she was curled up in the crook of his neck, making a strange purring noise as she breathed. The curtains were drawn tight and the room was cooler than usual, dimmer too. Miles couldn’t stop the fond, appreciative smile from tugging at his lips even as he stroked a thumb across Xiao Mei’s ears.


End file.
